


Better Off Dead (than alive in here)

by paperclipbitch



Series: Sheepish Wolves [4]
Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, M/M, general shenanigans of the supernatural variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bill has had enough (he’s just not sure what of), Gabe is really bad at being left behind (and he’s not the only one), and the world’s most random road trip doesn’t involve tiaras (though not for Brendon’s lack of trying).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Off Dead (than alive in here)

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted on LJ autumn 2010] Set about eighteen months after _Sheepish Wolves_. This isn't perfect, but what the hell.

Three weeks after graduation, William Beckett packs two pairs of jeans, his ipod and its charger, three notebooks and a copy of _Ulysses_ and gets the first bus out of town.

Goodbyes are the hard part, so Bill leaves a note for his parents using _it’s not your fault_ a lot – his dad won’t believe it, but he’ll keep trying anyway – and leaves his keys in the mailbox. He takes his phone with him but leaves it turned off for the moment, not sure what he wants to say to anyone. His friends will be angry, he knows, but this is about him and no one else. It hasn’t really been about him in a while, and that’s kind of a relief and kind of a shame and anyway it’s too late to turn back now.

No one sits next to him; Bill puts his backpack on the seat beside him, leans his forehead against the window and watches the road flash past, tarmac blurring grey under the sunlight. Part of him wants to fall asleep, lulled by monotony, but he knows that it isn’t a good idea to doze off in public, so he sighs softly and drums his fingers against his knee and tries not to think about anything at all.

{ _three weeks ago_ }

Ryan’s dad is drunk. He’s hiding it pretty well, but they all know the signs, and anyway, it isn’t about how subtle he’s being. It’s about the fact it’s Ryan’s fucking _graduation_ and his dad is fucking _drunk_.

The line is in alphabetical order and Ryan’s a long way away, mired in the _R_ s, arms folded across his chest. He looks small and hunched and bitter, staring determinedly at his feet. He’s got a black and purple domino mask painted across his face; up close there are threads of silver and gold through the design and it’s gorgeous, but from a distance it just looks like he’s been punched in the face. Something about that thought makes Bill’s stomach clench, even though Ryan’s dad only ever did that once and it was two years ago and no one talks about it now.

Z is standing behind him, arms wrapped around herself, darting constant worried looks down the line at Ryan. Ryland keeps looking back at _them_ – Bill guesses they must smell pretty frantic (it’s a storm cloud grey coloured scent, according to Vicky-T), more than graduation really warrants.

Bill reaches sideways, tangling his fingers with Z’s; she shivers a little but he’s almost got the hang of body heat now. She grips back, tight; Bill thinks she’d be leaving nail marks in the back of his hand if that was physically possible.

“Spencer’s parents are here,” Bill murmurs, “your parents are here, my parents are here. It’ll be ok.”

What he really means is _he’ll be ok_ but he’s not going to say that aloud.

Z fumbles together a smile, smearing the vulnerability off her face like it was never there. She nods, tucking her newly-short hair behind her ear with her free hand, throwing a smile to where Tennessee is sitting in the crowd next to Z’s mom. Bill squints against the sunlight, wishing he’d thought to steal a pair of Gabe’s tacky sunglasses before they came out here. He can make out his parents sitting next to Gabe’s; his mom already has a Kleenex pressed against her face and nothing’s even _started_ yet, and although it’s too far away to really read his dad’s expression Bill knows it’ll be that weird mixture of pride and guilt that tends to appear whenever he looks at Bill these days.

Bill isn’t going to college; it isn’t even the ghost thing, not really. Brendon’s going to college, after all, with every scholarship he’s been able to get his hands on since he’s legally emancipated from his parents. Bill... Bill doesn’t know what he’s doing with his future, and he doesn’t know if he’d be having all this existential angst if he was still alive; he can’t blame everything in his life on being a side-effect of the whole _dead_ thing, no matter how much he wants to. He has all these vague bright visions of the future but none of them have ever really clarified themselves into anything; he suppose he’ll have to wait until something makes sense.

“Victoria Asher.”

Vicky-T’s name jerks Bill back into the moment and he watches as she walks onto the stage, collecting her diploma with a small smile, a blush and a ducked head. Gabe whoops from towards the back of the line, wildly enthusiastic; half their year are muttering amongst themselves. Vicky-T was the only girl to turn up to the prom with _four_ dates, after all. It was kind of ridiculously adorable and lame; all the boys wore ugly powder blue tuxes, while Vicky-T wore frothy pink and looked simultaneously excited and embarrassed.

It’s not that far from Vicky-T to Bill, and he feels a smile spread across his mouth without his consent as his name is called. Their headmaster has a crushing handshake and Bill curls his hand tight around his diploma, mortar board slipping on his head. Gabe is whooping again but Bill doesn’t turn around; Vicky-T winks at him. Bill heads off the stage to his seat, applause still roaring in his ears, hearing “Elizabeth Bergman” called out behind him.

It seems to take forever for everyone to collect their diplomas; Bill grins at his friends as they pass across the stage, trying not to trip over their ridiculous robes. Ryan looks kind of like he wants to disappear into the ground and, not for the first time by a long shot, Bill _hates_ Ryan’s dad. He risks a glance over his shoulder; Brendon is sitting in the front row of the audience, gnawing his lower lip hard enough that it would probably be bleeding if only it could. Bill tries to catch his eye to give him a meaningless smile of some kind, but Brendon’s gaze is fixed firmly on Ryan. Discreetly, Z’s fingers thread through Bill’s again.

When Ryan’s name is called, there’s whooping from the stands; Bill glances back to find Spencer’s entire family are on their feet cheering. Ryan flushes under his make-up but the first hint of a smile twitches his mouth, broadening a little as Bill hears a whoop that can only come from Brendon.

They’re not going to let Ryan’s dad ruin graduation for him, and Bill can see the moment Ryan realises that, lingering on the steps off the stage. He only gets moving again when Gabe’s collected his diploma, swept a ludicrously theatrical bow to the crowd and blown kisses at half the moms; on the way down Gabe swings an arm around Ryan’s shoulders and pulls him towards their seats.

“Look at us, Bill,” Z mumbles when Gerard Way has shuffled off the stage and their president is giving a big speech about what a year it’s been, like half of them don’t secretly hate each other, “getting unleashed on the Big Bad World.”

She sounds like she’s relishing it; Bill closes his eyes and feels nothing short of panic.

+

Three days and a crappy motel later, Bill uses a payphone at a rest stop to call home, because he’s possibly having some kind of breakdown but he isn’t actually an asshole.

His mom cries down the phone. It’s horrific.

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over and over. “I’m sorry, mom, I just... I just needed to get out of town for a while, you know?”

She sniffles. “You’re going to be the death of me one day, William.”

His mom is the only person in the world who still calls him by his full name. Bill’s eyes get hot and he closes them before he starts crying too.

“I’m not,” he tells her. “And don’t worry; what’s the worst that could happen?” He doesn’t add _I’m already dead_ because he suspects she’s got him on speakerphone and his dad is in enough therapy as it is. Like the car accident was in any way his fault.

“Ridiculous boy,” his mom says fondly, thickly, though by the sound of it she’s stopped actively crying. “You’ll call me every day, ok?”

“Ok,” Bill says. “I’ve got to go. I love you.”

He hangs up before she can say it back.

It’s getting late and Bill casts nervous looks around at his fellow passengers – most of whom are already unconscious – before closing his eyes and letting himself drift off. He still goes transparent when he’s asleep, and the last thing he needs is to freak everyone out.

When he wakes up, the guy in the seat across from him is looking thoughtful. Like, eerily thoughtful. His dark hair’s a mess and his mouth is twisted to one side, like he’s trying to work out what to say. Bill looks down and sees that he’s still not entirely opaque yet; he can see through his legs to the ugly upholstery underneath. He grimaces and looks back up at the guy, who seems mildly amused by Bill’s panicked expression. All he does is wink and then slide the volume on his mp3 player up.

Bill doesn’t breathe anymore but it doesn’t stop him sighing in relief.

He dozes until they come to the bus station and then pushes his way off quickly, not looking back. He kind of wants to keep moving, so he finds a bus going north and gets on it, picking a seat near the back and stowing his backpack under his legs, glad that he doesn’t really get cramp anymore.

“Hey, ghost boy,” a voice says, and he looks up to find the guy from the other bus dropping into the seat beside him. “Anyone sitting here?”

Bill reminds himself that even if this guy looks like he could fuck him up if he wanted to, it can’t happen. Bill is a ghost; he doesn’t bruise, he doesn’t bleed, he doesn’t break. It’s weird and mostly awesome. And he left home searching for something new; random strangers definitely fall into that category.

“No,” he says, and smiles, holding out a hand. “Bill Beckett.”

The guy takes his hand without hesitation and does a pretty good job of hiding his wince at how unexpectedly cold Bill is. “Mike Carden.”

“You’re less freaked out than I would’ve expected,” Bill says quietly, as the bus pulls away. “Most people get all wide-eyed and _you’re dead_ and unnerved.”

Mike smiles, and it softens his whole face. “Most people are idiots,” he says. “And you’ve only been dead what, two years?”

“Three this autumn,” Bill corrects, staring at him.

“Yeah, I figured it was something like that.” Mike’s eyes are amused, like confusing the hell out of Bill is fun. “It takes about three and a half years to get properly warm again.”

“Ok,” Bill says slowly, “now _I’m_ unnerved.”

Mike tilts his head slightly. “Sisky – that’s a friend of mine – died when we were, like, eight. So I’m kind of an expert by now.”

That’s more than Bill is, and he tells Mike this. “All I know about being a ghost is basically what I got from those weird pamphlets they do for the friends and family.”

“ _Physical Relationships With Ghosts_?” Mike asks, lips quirking. “Sisky says most of that’s bullshit.”

Bill’s glad to hear that – not that he’ll say it or anything – because the pamphlet was really fucking confusing. Z only made him steal all the brochures from his support group so that they could tease Ryan when he was failing miserably at convincing Brendon he wanted to date him (and convincing himself at the same time, because Ryan fails at allowing himself what he wants). He doesn’t say this to Mike.

The thing is, Bill isn’t a danger to himself or to anyone else anymore, so if he actually wanted a relationship of any kind he could do it, misleading pamphlets or not. Ryan and Brendon manage fine – more than fine actually; Bill still shudders a little when he recalls Brendon’s hickey phase and Ryan actually _needing_ to wear all those ridiculous scarves, and he’s not the only one – even if they’re exactly not an example of a healthy or normal relationship. He just... he just hasn’t.

{ _one year ago_ }

“But Bella sprained her hand when she punched Jacob in the face,” Gabe is saying, with animated hand gestures. “Which means Jacob is fucking _hardcore_ , Bella didn’t break anything when she punched Edward in the face.”

“She _never punched Edward in the face_ ,” Pete responds with something like triumph. 

“That’s not an argument,” Gabe protests, and adds: “Edward’s a pussy,” for good measure.

Greta makes a groaning sound into Vicky-T’s shoulder, and mumbles something that sounds like: “don’t encourage him.”

Bill has no idea how their last-night-in-Chicago party has descended into vampires vs werewolves with _Twilight_ as the deciding factor. He’s not sure anyone else does either; glancing around, he finds that most people are ignoring Pete and Gabe bickering. Brendon is saying something animatedly, practically sitting on top of Jon; Ryan looks like he can’t decide whether he’s pleased that his boyfriend is getting on well with the guy he had an unrequited crush on for several years, or if he’s kind of jealous of the way Brendon is claiming that Jon Walker is his _favourite ever_.

Not that Bill can blame him; he kind of suspects that Jon Walker might be his _favourite ever_ too. Jon is the least likely vampire imaginable – with his easy smile, love for cats and tendency to wear flipflops – until you notice Greta, with her angel corkscrew curls and delicate laugh, or even Pete himself, who is ludicrously short and perky. At least Frank has the decency to wear too much eyeliner and try out weird experimental haircuts, even if the incessant giggling doesn’t really make him seem all that threatening.

“Pete,” Patrick says lightly. “Remember when we had that whole conversation about how it was Edward Cullen or me?”

Patrick doesn’t look like a guy who dates a vampire. Patrick’s fashion sense leans a lot towards argyle and he’s kind of quiet but not really in a crazy way and he’s clearly a musical genius. He’s also managed to date Pete Wentz for about nine months without giving up or punching anyone, so he’s evidently got the patience of a saint.

Pete pouts and then winds up mostly in Patrick’s lap without Bill seeing him move. “But _‘Trick_ ,” he whines, “Saporta has maligned our _entire race_.”

Bill rolls his eyes. Gabe can’t go anywhere without it ending in either a brawl or an orgy, and since he’s still dating Vicky-T – no one seems more surprised about this than Gabe himself, but they’re actually a weirdly cute couple – it kind of only leaves the latter. 

Vicky-T whispers something to Greta, who starts laughing. They hadn’t seen each other in years before this summer and they’ve been practically joined at the hip since they all arrived in Chicago; Bill feels kind of bad that they have to leave. Jon sends a softly fond glance at his girlfriend before turning back to Brendon, Ryan and Spencer; he and Greta are far cuter than a vampire couple really should be. They’re also really sensible, which is probably a good thing if you spend protracted amounts of time around Pete Wentz; and Bill thought _Gabe_ was bad.

He winds up going out under the excuse of ‘getting some air’, and no one challenges him even though most of the people in the room don’t breathe. It’s the early hours of the morning – mid-afternoon to the vampires – and Bill can feel tiredness tugging at his eyelids. He likes Chicago, likes Vicky-T and Ryan’s vampire friends, likes this random road trip they took at the end of junior year. Bill leans back against the wall and looks up at the sky, too brightly lit by streetlights for stars, and tries not to freak out about his upcoming senior year.

“Hey.”

Bill turns his head to find he’s been joined by Travis, one of the only actually tall vampires here. He’s got an amazing afro of hair and a lip piercing and glasses and, once again, fails at looking like a proper vampire. Bill almost feels cheated, but he knows that he and Brendon didn’t meet anyone’s expectations of _ghosts_.

“Hey,” he says in reply. Travis is a nice guy and really friendly but there’s something about him that makes Bill kind of nervous. He doesn’t know what it is; he tries not to think too hard about it. “Are Pete and Gabe still fighting?”

“They’ve called a truce and broken into Pete’s parents’ liquor cabinet,” Travis shrugs. “It’s like the fucking _High School Musical_ of supernatural beings in there,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

Bill raises an eyebrow. “ _High School Musical_?”

Travis looks faintly embarrassed; vampires don’t blush, so Bill can’t be certain. “It’s one of Greta’s favourite movies,” he says, which actually explains why Vicky-T quotes it at inopportune moments.

“Hey,” Bill says, “I’m friends with a guy who covers his room in Justin Timberlake posters. I can’t exactly judge anyone.”

Travis smiles, and it’s a nice smile but it isn’t like one of Spencer’s unexpectedly bright grins or the ones Brendon gives that are so wide that they look like they hurt or the ones Vicky-T smirks when she thinks no one’s looking, so it shouldn’t make Bill need to look away, stomach tight.

“So you guys are leaving straight after this party,” Travis says, apropos of nothing. 

“Yeah,” Bill says, “early flight. It was cheaper, so...”

“You do know that Gabe’s going to be drunk on the flight home, don’t you?” Travis is grinning as he says it, and Bill looks at his shoes.

“That can be Vicky-T’s problem,” he replies. “She’s pretty good with that kind of shit.”

Travis laughs softly. “Yeah,” he says. “Greta always said she was great, but, you know... it’s been nice to finally meet her. To meet all you guys.” He laughs again but it’s tight now, kind of nervous. “Smooth, huh?”

Music starts thumping out, and oh dear God, is that Britney Spears? Gabe and Pete clearly have some kind of unholy alliance going on and the sooner they get them in separate cities, the better.

Bill is just opening his mouth to reply when Travis moves, leaning into Bill and pressing their mouths together. Travis is already cold so there’s no flinch when their lips touch, no trace of hesitation, and Bill leans into it before he really knows what he’s doing. He’s been dead for almost two years and, except for an experimental kiss with Z when they were all reading their way through _Dating A Ghost: An Overview_ , no one’s touched him like this since he died. It’s strange and disconcerting and he keeps expecting Travis to pull away and go _this feels weird, what the hell, man?_ but he doesn’t. Neither of them need to breathe anymore, either, so Bill has no idea how much later it is when they eventually pull apart, staring at each other.

“I...” Bill is trying hard to form words, but his head is spinning and his stomach is tying itself in knots and if his heart still beat he imagines it would be pounding. “I’m so sorry. I can’t. I just... I can’t.”

Travis smiles, and it’s soft and genuine and _lovely_. “It’s ok,” he says quietly. “No hard feelings, man.”

When they go back inside, Gabe and Pete are dueting on _Sexyback_ – it’s quite a noise, if nothing else – and Vicky-T and Greta are dancing with Brendon, the three of them shaking with hysterical laughter. Z is the only one who looks up at Bill from where she’s sitting in the corner with a guy whose name Bill has completely forgotten, but apparently he’s human and became friends with these guys when Pete stalked him for a handful of months. Z raises an eyebrow and Bill shrugs in response, falling into the couch between Jon and Tom and wondering what the hell it is that he wants anyway.

+

Mike’s a nice guy underneath the somewhat terrifying glares, and Bill decides that the Random Strangers part of this trip has totally been the best part so far. Not that there are many parts to choose from, but still: it counts.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Mike asks at one point, and Bill looks down to find he’s been unconsciously playing with it, turning it over and over in his hands. “Mine’s at my friend’s apartment – long story.” 

“Sure,” Bill says, hesitating before switching it on. It’s barely been back on for a minute before it starts filling up with text messages and voicemails.

“Someone’s popular,” Mike remarks, and then looks shrewdly at Bill. “Or did you neglect to mention to anyone that you were getting on a bus and getting the hell away?”

“The second one,” Bill says. “Go ahead and use it.”

Mike frowns a little but types out a text – _I’ll be there in a couple of hours, M_ – and sends it. “You want to listen to your messages now?”

“No,” Bill says, because if he does he might start feeling guilty and then he might turn around and go home and he doesn’t want to do that yet.

Mike shrugs and calls his answerphone. Bill watches as Mike listens intently. “I’m gonna assume the woman crying and calling you William is your mom?”

Bill nods, and watches Mike delete three messages from his mom in rapid succession.

“Who’s the guy calling you a dick and saying that you took one of his pairs of jeans with you and he wants them back?” Mike asks.

Bill grimaces. “That’s Gabe. And he’s a liar; his ass is way too big to get into my jeans.”

Mike smirks and carries on listening to voicemails. “Your mom. Your mom. Your mom. Your mom. Wow, is this a robot? Why is an automated messaging system calling you?”

Bill swallows a laugh. “That’s Ryan. He was still doing his make-up when they handed out the ability to express emotions.”

Mike nods like this makes sense. “And... a girl?”

“Is she swearing a lot?” Bill asks. Mike nods. “That’ll be Z.” Mike deletes the message, and Bill can hear Brendon even without the phone against his own ear, and tells Mike this. 

“Gabe again. He’s talking about cobras now. And... a guy who sounds kind of stoned?”

“Joe,” Bill says. He’s starting to feel kind of queasy now.

Mike keeps deleting messages and listening to the new ones. Z again. Ryan again. Two from Vicky-T. Alex. Gabe’s Alex. Ryland. Three from Travis. Brendon again. Nate. His mom. His _dad_. Tennessee. Joe again. Frank. Gerard. Spencer. Vicky-T again. Gabe yet again.

“You know a fuckload of people,” Mike remarks, handing back his phone.

“I do,” Bill agrees quietly, staring miserably at the screen, which says he has about a hundred unread texts. 

“No wonder you ran away,” Mike says, and Bill looks at him, startled. “If you’re going to have an emotional crisis you can’t really do it around people who care about you.”

“Who says I’m having an emotional crisis?” Bill asks.

Mike looks unimpressed. “I’ve been talking to you for hours, man. And you have a hundred unread text messages. Emotional crisis.”

Bill stares at his phone instead of at Mike and it starts vibrating in his hand. He looks at _Gabe calling_ for a moment and then presses the red button before turning his phone off again.

“Boyfriend?” Mike asks, after a moment.

He almost laughs aloud, shaking his head. “Best friend. Soulmate. I don’t know. Something like that. Not boyfriend, though.”

Mike just nods like he understands, which is weird because _no one_ understands Bill and Gabe (except maybe Vicky-T, because surely she’d have sat him down for some kind of Conversation if she really thought he was sleeping with Gabe like the rest of the world seems to).

After a moment of silence, Mike digs out his mp3 player and offers Bill an earbud. “Angry music with shitty lyrics?”

Bill laughs with something like relief, clutching his silent phone too hard in one hand. “Hell yeah.”

+

Mike offers him a couch to crash on in his friend’s apartment, but Bill declines. Mike just smiles in the crumpled way that he does and leaves Bill his number (“let me know how the emotional crisis goes”), and Bill finds a motel.

He wakes up to a knocking on his bedroom door. He groans, rolling over and burying his head under the pillow. No one can hurt him, after all, and he doesn’t want to find out what the hell is going on.

The lock clicks a minute later and Bill doesn’t have time to move before someone heavy lands on top of him.

“Seriously, Bill, you _fucker_.” Gabe is looking particularly crazed, wearing his favourite ugly purple hoodie, hair a wreck. “What the fuck did you think you were _doing_?”

Bill blinks sleepily. Gabe’s arm is actually _through_ his left leg, though Gabe doesn’t seem to have noticed and it’s going to be hard turning fully corporeal until Gabe moves, which he doesn’t seem inclined to.

“How did you unlock my door?” he asks instead.

“Uh, that was me,” a sheepish voice says, and Bill looks up to find that Gabe is not alone. Gabe is not anything _like_ alone. Brendon is blushing, hand raised to take the blame. Ryan is scowling, smudged eyeliner decorating his cheeks, Spencer has his favourite stern bitchface in place while Z just looks pissed, arms folded tight across her chest. Vicky-T offers him a smile.

“Gabe, you should probably get off him.”

Gabe huffs a sigh but obediently sits up; Bill’s leg tingles for a moment as it becomes solid again.

“You came to get me?” he asks blankly.

“You’d know this shit if you answered your fucking phone once in a while,” Gabe snaps.

“Does anyone have anything to say to me that doesn’t involve obscenities?” Bill asks.

“Not really, no.” Ryan actually _sounds_ angry, which is never a good sign. “You ran away from home without saying goodbye. What the fuck?”

“How did you even find me?” Bill frowns. His brain is slowly starting to function again, but he’s still tired and confused.

Vicky-T taps her nose. “You had two werewolves on your trail,” she explains. “As long as we kept driving, it was pretty easy.”

Oh. Right. Ok. Bill sighs and looks around at his friends. “It took _six_ of you to find me?”

“Joe and Alex wanted to come too but their families are dragging them off for ‘last holiday before college’ things,” Ryan explains, “and the only reason Gee and Frank aren’t here is because we weren’t sure we could stop Frank from bursting into flames in daylight hours.”

Bill nods, and there’s silence for a while. “I’m not coming home,” he says at last. “Not yet. I can’t.”

Vicky-T shrugs. “We’ve got a shitty VW bus,” she offers. “We can recreate _Little Miss Sunshine_ until we run out of gas.”

“Can I enter the beauty pageant at the end?” Brendon asks. “I’d look so cute in a tiara.”

“Where the hell are we even going to find a beauty pageant?” Spencer asks, as Gabe says: “ _yes_. You’ll kick ass in a swimsuit round.”

“Brendon is not entering a swimsuit round!” Ryan snaps. 

“Dude,” Gabe says, “ _all_ beauty pageants have a swimsuit round, even those creepy paedophile ones.”

“I’m not wearing a speedo,” Brendon tells him anxiously.

“You don’t tan,” Vicky-T agrees.

“Your ass could make it work,” Z says thoughtfully, casually eyeraping Brendon.

Then they all seem to remember Bill and look back at him. This is clearly the worst ever attempt at running away that has ever happened.

All he does is sigh and say: “I think you’ll find _I’d_ look best in the tiara, if there’s going to be tiaras.”

“Of _course_ there are going to be tiaras,” Brendon says brightly, like you can’t have a road trip after graduation with two ghosts, two werewolves and three normal people, none of them with any idea where they’re going, _without_ tiaras.

“Get up,” Gabe says brightly, smacking Bill a little too hard on the arm, “we’ve got a long way to go.”

Bill wants to tell them all that he hates them but he doesn’t, not really, and if that’s relief he’s feeling curling through him as he scrubs a hand through his messy hair and watches Gabe and Ryan smuggle the motel room bible out in Vicky-T’s purse, well, he doesn’t admit it aloud.

_Gabe + my friends came to get me, wtf_ , he texts Mike.

Mike responds almost immediately. _Yeah, he may have mentioned that in a voicemail_.

Bill laughs without meaning to, and follows his friends out to their bus.

+

Vicky-T is doing the driving, as it turns out, which is a relief because she’s not likely to get distracted by something at the roadside and turn the whole bus over. And Bill loves his friends, really he does, but he knows them pretty well by now and that’s always a horrible possibility. She ties a headband Bill is reasonably sure used to belong to Spencer around her head to keep her hair out of her eyes, tells Z she’s riding shotgun because she is _not_ having Gabe trying to reach the gas pedal over her again, glares at Spencer, Gabe and Ryan until they all squish themselves into the back, and drives out of the motel’s parking lot.

Bill spends most of the ensuing journey asleep against Brendon’s shoulder, waking up a while later to find his head is actually in Brendon’s stomach because Brendon’s asleep too and apparently even people who’ve been dead for eight years can’t stay completely solid when they’re dreaming. Bill sits up awkwardly to find Ryan, Spencer and Gabe are watching with interest from the backseat, all wearing pairs of Gabe’s crazy plastic sunglasses. Vicky-T is wearing a pair too but Brendon’s got his own dorky shades – of _course_ – and Z is letting the team down by wearing a pair of classy Audrey-Hepburn-as-Holly-Golightly sunglasses. It’s very sunny and, after a moment, Bill realises it’s really hot.

He squints for about ten minutes, listening to Vicky-T and Z singing along to crappy pop songs on the radio while Z pages through an old crumpled issue of _Vogue_ , then caves and turns around. “Got a spare pair?”

Gabe rummages around under his seat and produces some shades, passing them over. They have green glitter plastic frames, and they’re hideous, but Bill puts them on anyway.

“Should’ve brought some with you,” Ryan observes quietly, even though it’s clear Ryan forgot them too.

“You can’t judge anyone, Ross,” Brendon mumbles, fingers pushing through Bill’s thigh as he groggily sits himself up, “you packed like ten million scarves, eight eyeliner pencils and a copy of _On The Road_. You didn’t even bring underwear.”

Bill frowns. “Ryan’s not wearing underwear?”

Z turns a page of her magazine. “He’s wearing mine,” she says in a bored voice.

“That makes so much sense,” Brendon remarks, sounding thoughtful and relieved, and Bill doesn’t ask him to elaborate. He doesn’t want to know. 

A scuffle has broken out in the backseat, presumably because Gabe has decided to see what Ryan’s underwear actually looks like, and Bill buries his face in his hands.

_SEND HELP_ he texts Joe and Alex.

_If you hadn’t run away in the first place you wouldn’t need rescuing from your rescue party_ , Alex informs him.

_HA HA HA_ is all Joe has to say about it.

Brendon has started singing along to Miley Cyrus with Vicky-T and Bill decides it’s time for drastic measures. He turns around and gives Spencer a pleading expression; he may not have Ryan and Spencer’s creepy ability to talk to each other with nothing but eyebrows, but he’s pretty sure that the _get me out of here, Ryan’s wearing panties_ is fairly obvious.

Spencer shrugs as best he can with Ryan half on top of him, trying to escape Gabe’s roaming hands. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says aloud.

Bill groans and realises that if Spencer is perfectly happy to go along with the crazy then he doesn’t have a whole lot of choice, so he turns back around again.

“You’ll thank us for this one day,” Gabe informs him, draping himself across Bill from behind and nearly overbalancing them both in the process. “Well. Probably. I suppose you could kill us all instead, but that would require way more effort and dry cleaning.”

Bill cracks a smile because he can’t help it. Gabe presses a clumsy kiss to his cheek, messes up his hair, and sits back again.

“Not that much dry-cleaning,” Z puts in from the front seat after a moment, “since we basically all forgot to bring clothes.”

“You fail at being a rescue party,” Bill tells them, in case they hadn’t figured this out already.

“We found you, didn’t we?” Brendon is grinning, bouncing a little in his seat. Maybe he shouldn’t be allowed to nap again for the rest of this trip. “We totally win at this.”

There’s an amused snorting sound from behind them, which Bill is willing to bet came from Spencer, though he doesn’t check, and he shrugs, a little helpless in the face of Brendon’s triumphant expression. It’s possibly worse than the puppy dog eyes.

“ _I’ll_ decide if you win or not,” he says anyway. Brendon looks expectant. “I haven’t made my mind up yet,” Bill adds. “You should all be more awesome and then I’ll figure something out.”

Vicky-T grins at him in the rearview mirror.

{ _four weeks ago_ }

Brendon’s graduation is the week before theirs, and Ryan is quietly adamant that they all attend. No one was sure about this to begin with because Ryan is kind of awful at telling people what he actually wants, but Spencer interpreted Ryan’s tense eyebrows for them one afternoon and explained that Ryan really did expect them all to be there.

Bill was in Brendon’s support group for a year so he knows all about the shit that went down with Brendon’s family and how they refused to take their son back when he woke up dead, like drowning in the first place wasn’t shitty _enough_ , so he gets why Ryan wants as many people on Brendon’s side as possible. Brendon deserves a family of some description at his graduation.

Brendon looks kind of startled when he appears, shorter than half the guys in his year, and spots them all sitting in the stands. There are a lot of them, after all: Gabe and his pack (he and Vicky-T are _both_ sitting on Ryland’s lap, but no one’s asking), Gerard and Mikey Way and Mikey’s possible-girlfriend-though-he-won’t-admit-anything Alicia, Vicky-T’s friend Ashlee, Z and Tennessee, Bill and Joe and Alex and Spencer and, of course, Ryan. Then he grins and even from a distance Bill can see how bright it is; and how quietly relieved.

“We’re like a mafia,” Spencer observes quietly, but he’s smiling, one of those pretty ones you really have to earn.

“You bet we are,” Bill agrees, though something’s wrenching in his chest. Brendon’s graduating high school, and Bill’s doing that in a _week_ and he kind of hoped that by now he would’ve worked out what the hell it was he wanted from his life or his not-life or whatever this is. And he hasn’t. He’s not even close. Brendon’s leaving to study music and live in a dorm room and have some kind of long-distance relationship with Ryan (probably; it’s not like Ryan and Brendon are talking about it like _normal people_ , so for all Bill knows it’s about to implode) and sort his shit out.

Bill doesn’t want to do anything anymore, and the mixture of panic and claustrophobia is starting to _hurt_.

They obediently sit through all the speeches by shiny-looking students they don’t know, cheer so hard when Brendon gets his diploma that he actually blushes, and then storm the stage once everything’s over. 

“You _guys_ ,” Brendon keeps saying, over and over, one hand fisted in the back of Ryan’s shirt, “seriously, you _guys_.”

Brendon is absolutely certain that he doesn’t want to party with any of his fellow students, so they all go to see Frank’s band play afterwards instead. The line-up’s changed half a dozen times in the last year and they’re calling themselves _The Fabulous Killjoys_ instead of _The Black Parade_ now, but they’re still really good. Frank searches the crowd and drags Brendon up onto the stage despite his protests, and they wind up dueting together on _What’s My Age Again_ while everyone screams. Bill catches sight of Ryan, and though Ryan fails miserably at facial expressions, there’s something there that might just be pride, if you squint.

Later, when everyone who can be is stoned on the weed Jon carefully sent them from Chicago – and Bill isn’t going to ask how or why a vampire is such a big fan of pot, he’s just... not – Brendon catches Bill’s wrist and tugs him outside.

“Are you ok?” he asks, eyes big and dark under the half moon. 

This would be the moment for Bill to say _I don’t know_ , but he doesn’t. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “How about you?”

Brendon shrugs. “It’s stupid to think they’d send anything,” he mumbles, and something in Bill’s stomach clenches, hot and achy. “I mean, they don’t know where I live, they don’t know where I go to high school or anything, but...” He laughs, ugly and self-deprecating and Bill hates it when Brendon looks like this; it’s been a while. “I wanted them to acknowledge me,” he sighs at last. “And they haven’t until now and I don’t see any reason why they would start but... you know?”

Bill pulls Brendon into a hug and doesn’t ask _why aren’t you telling Ryan this_ because God knows Ryan is stressed out enough about his dad and his own graduation; he just bends his head to rest it against Brendon’s shoulder and scrunches his eyes shut. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

+

Z is stretched out on her motel room bed while Vicky-T diligently paints her toenails. Gabe is sprawled out on another bed, and at some point his toenails became the same vivid purple as his hoodie; Bill decides not to ask. Vicky-T is wearing shorts and a t-shirt they picked up at the last gas station they stopped at, hair tied back out of the way.

“We’re having a slumber party,” Gabe informs Bill brightly as he walks in. It’s possible he’s stoned. Bill would not put it past Gabe to bring nothing but sunglasses and peyote. 

“Manicures!” Brendon trills brightly, wiggling electric-blue painted fingers at him.

“I didn’t know ghosts could get their nails painted,” Bill observes, because there isn’t a whole lot else to say and he may as well go with it.

“Neither did I,” Ryan says dryly. He’s hiding behind his copy of _On The Road_ but he’s wearing hot pink eyeshadow, sweeping from his eyes up his cheekbones and temples. Bill’s not sure where he got that from; it’s not a colour either of the girls have ever worn. “Maybe we should tell the pamphlet people.”

“ _How To Put Make-Up On Ghosts: A Guide_ ,” Spencer suggests, blowing on his nails. “D’you think there’s money in writing supportive instructional pamphlets about dead people?”

“No,” Bill says, sitting down on the end of Z’s bed. “Brendon and I googled it once. It’s not a valid career choice.”

Spencer looks vaguely disappointed, but his nails are silver so he doesn’t get to have actual emotions that Bill takes seriously right now.

“Is there any special reason we’re having a slumber party for thirteen-year-old girls?” he asks, mostly directing his question at Vicky-T and Z.

“Don’t look at me,” Vicky-T says mildly, screwing the top back on the nail polish. “I’ve never had one, when I was thirteen girls thought I was weird and stayed out of my way.”

She says it lightly but there’s anger in there too, and Bill suddenly belatedly recalls that the full moon is approximately four days away. Which... could be a problem.

“I was never this lame,” Z adds, channel hopping. “Hey, _Pretty Woman_. Does this work for you boys?”

If this was Gabe’s idea, it’s entirely possible that Bill will punch him. Gabe must see that on Bill’s face, because he just grins and says: “Bill. _Billiam_. Sit down. Let the girls pamper you. We’ll try and make smores over the radiator-”

“No we won’t,” Spencer says quickly.

“-and we’ll watch Julia Roberts in her hooker boots. It’ll be the best evening ever,” Gabe finishes, unabashed.

Gabe is almost definitely under the influence of something right now, but Bill doesn’t bother asking what it is. He thinks a few months ago he would’ve fallen into this without even thinking about it, but... things are different now, and he doesn’t know how to make them not be different anymore.

“All right,” he says, kicking off his shoes and shifting on the bed until his back’s against the wall.

Mike texts him later, when Julia Roberts is being kicked out of the expensive shops and Brendon is looking personally offended as he watches.

_How’s the emotional breakdown going?_

Bill shrugs. _Z is giving me a pedicure and Gabe is declaring his undying love for Julia Roberts._

He can see the twisted edge of Mike’s smile in his mind. _So it’s going pretty well, then?_

Bill smiles, almost in spite of himself. _Yeah. It’s going pretty well._

+

The next morning, Bill once again remembers why they all hate Ryan for having a vastly unexpressive voice; he knocks on Ryan and Brendon’s room and gets a _yes_ of some description in reply. Of course, when he gets in there to find Ryan with his legs around Brendon’s waist, he finds it was a _yes_ of an entirely different kind.

“Oh my God,” he says, “get a sex voice like a _normal person_.”

Brendon is giggling now, burying his face in Ryan’s neck, and the most disturbing part of this isn’t even all the nudity, it’s the fact that Ryan is _still wearing pink eyeshadow_.

“And lock your door next time,” he adds, leaving and slamming it behind him.

He can still hear Brendon laughing.

He knocks on Gabe and Vicky-T’s door with some trepidation.

“Who is it?” Vicky-T calls brightly.

Bill glances down and notes they’ve put the “please clean my room” sign on the door, which is _never_ a good sign where Gabe Saporta is concerned.

“It’s me,” Bill replies.

“Oh, come in,” Vicky-T says, “it’s unlocked.”

He walks in to find that Gabe is stark naked and Vicky-T seems to be tying him to the headboard with what appear to be two of Ryan’s scarves. They’re paisley, anyway, which is usually a pretty safe bet that something belongs to Ryan.

Bill blinks expectantly.

“I’m leaving him for the maids to find,” Vicky-T explains, like this is something that girlfriends regularly do for the guys they’re dating.

Gabe flashes him his broad grin, made more creepy because the moon is getting close and his teeth seem to be very white and very dangerous.

“All right,” Bill says. “And this is going to... end in some kind of orgy? Because that doesn’t happen outside of porn.”

Gabe’s grin widens. “Baby, I _am_ porn,” he says.

Vicky-T rolls her eyes.

“Doesn’t this count as cheating?” Bill asks, sitting down on the end of the bed. Sure, Gabe’s naked, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. It’s nothing they haven’t _all_ seen before.

“Well...” Vicky-T shrugs. “I slept with Ryland.”

“Who hasn’t?” Gabe responds.

Bill raises a hand, and then says: “I don’t get your pack. Or your harem. Or... whatever.”

“Neither do I,” Vicky-T responds, but she’s smiling. She sits down next to Bill, knocking their knees together. “It’s ok though. I think I’m mostly dating Gabe and Alex and Nate are mostly dating each other and Ryland is mostly dating this guy and this girl in a rival pack that ours has an alliance with.”

Bill doesn’t ask her to clarify ‘mostly’. It doesn’t need clarifying, though it does make for an interesting mental image.

“Don’t look so down, Billiam,” Gabe adds, kicking Bill with one bare foot, “you’re pack too. You’re possibly more pack than anyone else. You were pack before there _was_ a pack.”

Bill turns around to tell Gabe that he doesn’t want to sleep with him when he catches Gabe’s eyes and sees all the places where Gabe isn’t joking, and it feels kind of weird that one of the things he’s _needed_ to hear to fill up a place inside him that he didn’t even realise was empty comes at a moment involving bondage, nudity and Ryan’s stolen clothing.

“Ryan’s going to throw a hissy fit if you defile his scarves,” he warns Gabe.

“It’s ok,” Gabe says brightly, “he and Brendon are still getting jiggy.” He waggles his eyebrows in a wholly disturbing manner.

Vicky-T drops her head into her hands. “Please tell me you did not just say that.”

Bill frowns. “How can you tell?”

Gabe waggles his head. “Superhuman hearing, remember? We can hear them from three rooms away. It sounds kind of like Ryan is getting Brendon to fix his printer for him, but since Ross really didn’t bring anything but ugly scarves and make-up it probably isn’t his printer.”

Bill swallows a laugh and Vicky-T is giggling like this is an old joke. Given the superhuman hearing, it probably is.

There’s another knock at the door. Bill darts a glance at Vicky-T, who shrugs and shouts: “come in!”

Spencer appears, takes in the scene and lets the door close behind him. He gives Gabe an unimpressed onceover that actually takes some of the sparkle out of Gabe’s smirk, because no one has a bitchface like Spencer’s.

“Ryan’s going to lose his shit,” Spencer says, coming over to sit on Bill’s other side.

“Spencer Smith, you are my _hero_ ,” Vicky-T says, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Get in line,” Bill fires back, and watches Spencer roll his eyes like he doesn’t love them. 

“I hate all of you,” Gabe informs them. “I’m naked and tied up and there is _nothing fun going on_.”

Spencer reaches for the remote. “I bet it’s early enough for there to still be cartoons.”

“ _Awesome_ ,” Bill says with feeling, leaning over to snag one of the pillows from behind Gabe. He protests, but Bill ignores him.

Z joins them maybe ten minutes later (“I’m bored of listening to Ryan Ross’ miserable attempt at a sex voice through the wall, and I don’t think Brendon ever stops giggling, I’m pretty sure that they’re doing it wrong”), flopping down on Vicky-T’s other side without even glancing at Gabe.

Gabe clears his throat loudly and then leers at Z when she turns around.

“Wow, we’re starting early on the whole virgin sacrifice thing,” she remarks.

Bill laughs until it actually hurts. And just as he calms down, Ryan appears (still wearing hot pink eyeshadow, what the fuck, this had better not be his new fashion direction), unties Gabe and gives them all a seventeen-minute lecture on how awesome his scarves are or something, while Brendon bounces around behind him trying and failing to look sombre.

While everyone is packing their stuff up, Bill pats Gabe on the shoulder. “Sorry about your unlikely porn-inspired orgy.”

Gabe shrugs. “There’s always the next motel.”

Bill thinks that might actually be Gabe’s life motto, and resolves to get it put onto a t-shirt for Gabe’s next birthday.

{ _eleven months ago_ }

Bill is clicking idly through his emails and thinking that he should probably go to bed when a new one arrives.

_So, apart from the inadvisable making out thing, we got on pretty well and it would suck to waste that. How’s senior year going?_

Bill stares at Travis’ email address and worries his lower lip between his teeth for a while and then decides that if Travis can be awesome and mature and so forth, then so can Bill. Also; Vicky-T has Greta and Ryan and Spencer have Jon and Gabe and Pete seem to be forming some kind of evil cult thing through the magic of the internet, so Bill really deserves a vampire friend in Chicago of his own. It’s been a month since they left and Bill has missed everyone they met there, and maybe he’s thought about Travis a little too much. Maybe.

He hesitates and then reminds himself that just because he’s not in a mental or physical state where making out with people is _ok_ – and maybe he should’ve kept attending that support group, but once Brendon dropped out to have an apparently enjoyably turbulent relationship with Ryan, Bill realised that he kind of hated everyone else there – it doesn’t mean he can’t make friends.

Bill has actually, genuinely, honest-to-God come to terms with being a ghost. In a variety of ways, it’s kind of better than being alive ever was, except perhaps for the whole not eating or drinking thing. He’s just... not sure that he’s come to terms with being _him_ yet, except that sounds weird and crazy and desperate and so he squashes the thought flat and writes a reply that doesn’t in any way imply that he’s maybe falling apart a little inside.

Travis sleeps during the day and Bill sleeps – most of the time – at night, so it’s a little difficult to manage a phone or text conversation unless one of them stays up stupidly late. Bill asks Vicky-T and Ryan for advice; Vicky-T gets a knowing expression on her face that Bill pretends to ignore, and Ryan would probably get a knowing expression except that his face only moves on national holidays and when Brendon’s around, but both of them suggest lots of emails and a handful of patience. Patience was never one of Bill’s virtues, but a lot of things about him have changed since his heart stopped in the back of an ambulance, so he figures he can try it out.

_Hey_ , Travis texts him at lunch a couple of weeks later.

Bill frowns, trying to swallow a smile. _What are you doing awake?_ he asks.

_All day party_ , Travis informs him. _We’re hardcore or something._

Bill checks the watch on Alex’s wrist, who sighs but lets himself be manhandled: “‘cause it’s not like I’m trying to eat here or anything.”

_Don’t you have school in like eight hours?_

_Hardcore_ , Travis repeats, and then, a minute later: _I’m going to fucking kill Pete._

Bill actually likes Pete, in a wow-this-disturbingly-short-vampire-is- _actually_ -crazy-but-also-a-weirdly-nice-guy way, but he can also see how knowing him could lead to doing lots of inadvisable things that you don’t mean to do. It’s probably like knowing Gabe, actually, but with more eyeliner.

_Do you need an alibi?_ he offers.

“You’re smiling,” Ryan says suspiciously. And, well, yeah, it’s understandable that Ryan finds smiling suspicious because Ryan thinks that the majority of facial expressions should be kept in boxes and only taken out in private, like porn or mom sweaters. Bill is still bemused by the fact Ryan is dating a guy who smiles all the time, even when he’s unhappy; especially when he’s unhappy, actually, but that’s a whole other thing and Brendon promises he’s working on all that.

“He can do that because he’s not a robot like you, Ross,” Joe points out, and then flinches like Ryan’s just kicked him. Ryan’s shoes are frequently pointy, so Bill can sympathise.

_Thanks man, but I think Keltie’s got my back here_ , Travis tells him.

“Are we going to have to get more pamphlets on dating ghosts to tease you with now?” Z asks, not looking up from the magazine she’s got spread out over the table.

That thought makes something cold and hard clench in Bill’s stomach. “No,” he says, and something must show on his face because everyone stops asking him about it. 

He doesn’t reply, but he does get another message a few hours later – _think I’m actually drunk at school, FML_ – and if he grins at this one too, well, there’s no one around to call him on it.

+

The day before the full moon rises just seems to be full of phone calls. Z stays on the phone with Tenn for most of the day, something sweetly soft in her face that she usually only gets when Bill is pretending not to be freaking out or when Ryan’s dad is particularly bad again. Gabe and Vicky-T are jittery, tense, and there’s nowhere to have a conversation about the logistics of trying to have a road trip with people who are going to turn into potentially murderous animals later because their superhuman hearing means that they overhear even the softest of whispers from several metres away and then there’s shouting.

“I’m not going to _kill anybody_ ,” Gabe literally snarls, “when have I ever fucking killed anybody, fuck you all.”

Vicky-T says nothing, sitting on the hot asphalt outside the gas station store, something sharp and not-quite-human in her eyes.

Bill and Brendon aren’t affected by the pheromones positively _streaming_ off their friends because they’re not in any danger either way, but Bill can see Ryan twitching in the backseat, lips pressed together so hard they’re almost invisible, and Spencer’s driving is unusually erratic, swerving all over the road, so they wind up checking into a motel earlier than planned.

“Tell me what to do,” Bill says quietly to Gabe, who seems to have calmed down a little. Gabe exhales, dropping his head to Bill’s shoulder for a moment, just breathing in. 

They all pitch in to move the furniture in Gabe and Vicky-T’s rooms, shifting it against the walls to leave a decent amount of floor space. They’ve only booked three rooms, but Bill is pretty sure the rest of them aren’t going to sleep at any point tonight anyway. Bill and Z deal with the drapes, because the darker the rooms are, the better.

“We need to block out the sound of the transformation,” Brendon offers, biting his nails. It’s kind of weird how their hair and nails still grow, Bill’s always thought; like they’re corpses instead of the aftershocks of emotions, but he’s not in charge of the rules of what makes a ghost and what doesn’t.

“We’ll just put the TV on really loud,” Gabe shrugs. “And then you guys can come turn it off when it’s over.” He looks pointedly at Brendon and Bill.

Bill doesn’t want to go in the same room as a werewolf, even if said wolf is apparently going to be unconscious, but he’d do anything for Gabe and Vicky-T and it’s not like they can risk Ryan, Spencer or Z. Well, ok, Bill knows (although Z _swore_ him to secrecy) that Z and Tenn are quietly and thoughtfully discussing the logistics of turning Z into a werewolf when they’re both twenty-one, but that’s a whole other thing than Gabe or Vicky-T accidentally hurting one of their friends in a cheap shitty motel room hundreds of miles from home.

They spend the afternoon window shopping and sipping Starbucks coffee while Gabe and Vicky-T alternate between calling their parents and the rest of their pack.

“Ryland says he hopes you stop being so emo soon,” Gabe offers, draping an arm around Bill’s shoulders.

“Tell Ryland he’s an asshole,” Bill says, and can hear Ryland’s laughter cracking out of Gabe’s phone.

As sunset approaches, Bill wedges a chair under the door of Gabe’s room while Gabe strips off, putting his clothes on top of a closet, high out of reach. It’s not like Bill hasn’t seen Gabe naked a dozen times but he still winces at the raw scars crossing Gabe’s lower back, the lasting remains of the attack that turned Bill’s best friend into a werewolf. Gabe plunges a syringe of sedative into his thigh, grimacing slightly.

“This shit isn’t nearly as much fun as it should be,” he says. His smile is lopsided, less certain and predatory than it usually is. “Hey, Billy, remember that summer when we were, like, six, and we basically spent every day in your backyard having, I don’t know, adventures or whatever it was we did when we were six?”

“I do,” Bill says quietly, smiling his own crooked smile back.

“Now look at us,” Gabe tells him. “You fucking died and you’re a ghost, and I’m a goddamn _werewolf_.”

“We would’ve thought this was the coolest thing ever when we were six,” Bill reminds him.

“Yeah.” Gabe laughs and it isn’t his laugh. He weaves as though drunk when he walks over to Bill, wrapping his arms around him. He’s naked and it should be weirder than it is, but Gabe is shaking and Bill hugs him back, tight.

“We’re gonna sort you out, Bill,” Gabe says into his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

“I do,” Bill replies, because he doesn’t know a whole lot else but he does know that. Gabe pulls back and presses a clumsy kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then staggers backwards, a sound escaping him that’s half a gasp and half a whimper and none of it’s quite human.

“Television,” he breathes, and Bill reaches for the remote, switching it to a music channel they picked earlier, filling the room with really loud rap music until the speakers start buzzing.

Gabe is on his hands and knees on the floor, back arched at an impossible angle, keening spilling between his teeth. “Go,” he gets out, sounding like his teeth are too big for his mouth and, ok, wow, they probably are. 

“I could stay,” Bill offers quietly, because he can’t _leave_ Gabe like this, he can’t.

“I don’t want you to see this,” Gabe says, and whimpers again. “Fucking _go_.”

Bill backs out, passing through the door. He stands outside, shivering and feeling like his skin’s full of splinters for a moment, but he can’t hear Gabe anymore, just the television. He looks down the hall to find Ryan, Z and Spencer are standing in the doorway to their room, staring at him. There’s no sign of Brendon, but there’s music coming from Vicky-T’s room on the other side, so Bill assumes that’s going ok.

Right now he feels like shit for dragging them all on this pointless road trip, for making them leave their safe basements or the woods where they sometimes meet up with dozens of their brethren. For making them do this in a strange and possibly dangerous environment.

He counts ten minutes and then ventures back through the wall again. The wolf that’s Gabe – and Bill’s never seen him in his wolf form before, none of them have, and he’s unprepared for how large and _dark_ the wolf is – is curled up asleep on the floor. Bill walks over to the television and switches it off, filling the room with sudden silence; Gabe twitches a little, but doesn’t stir. He stands still for a long moment, just watching, and then walks out again.

When he gets back into their room, Brendon is curled against Ryan with his head buried in his shoulder, and it sounds like he’s crying. Z is sitting on the other bed, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Spencer is twisting his fingers together, looking at his feet.

None of them say anything for the longest time because there’s really nothing _to_ say. Brendon sits up eventually, forcing a smile as he wipes his shining cheeks, although the shoulder of Ryan’s t-shirt is still completely dry. Bill doesn’t need to ask: he can already tell that Brendon stayed in the room for the entirety of Vicky-T’s transformation, and God knows exactly what he saw.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” he mumbles.

+

All Gabe and Vicky-T want to do the next day is sleep, so it’s up to the rest of them to straighten up the motel rooms. Brendon drives the bus while Gabe and Vicky-T doze in the backseat, pressed close together. For all that they’re so casually relaxed around each other, Bill can see how defensive they are, Gabe’s fingers clenched far too tight in the back of Vicky-T’s dress, her legs thrown across his lap. Bill glances back later; Z is pretending she isn’t basically asleep between Ryan and Spencer. They’re all quiet, but relieved that that’s out of the way; they’ll all be home by the time the next moon rolls around. Bill silently promises himself that. He has one more month to sort this shit out.

“Do you remember what it’s like to be alive?” Brendon asks quietly when Spencer finally falls asleep against Z’s shoulder and they’re the only ones left awake.

Bill considers the question for a while because he gets the feeling that this is going to be one of those _important_ conversations that come up from time to time since they both stopped attending their not-particularly-useful support group.

“I don’t expect to feel a heartbeat anymore,” he offers at last. “I’m used to not having a pulse. So... so I guess I’m getting there.” Brendon says nothing, eyes on the road, and Bill sighs. “It’s the little things that trip me up, like when my friends are getting drunk around me and I think _fuck_ , I’ll never be drunk again.”

Brendon laughs a little, switching lanes. “I don’t know if it’s worse or better for me,” he says. “I’d never gotten drunk before I died, I’ve only had sex since I became a ghost; I never tried out the living counterparts.” He’s still smiling, but it’s thoughtful now. “Is it better to not be able to miss them, or is it just damn sad that I died before I had a chance to live?”

What’s damn sad is that Brendon was ten years old and his parents wouldn’t take him back into their home, leaving him to what sounds like a really fucking depressing orphanage type place for abandoned child ghosts, but Bill’s not ever, ever going to say that aloud.

“That’s too philosophical for me,” he tells him instead, and looks at the keyboard on Brendon’s arm so he doesn’t have to see his expression. 

The last support group meeting either of them ever went to entailed the world’s most depressing game of “I Never”; in an attempt to help them all come to terms with dying, they had to list all the things they’d never be able to do. It was supposed to help, but all Bill can remember is Lyn-Z sobbing as she mumbled _I’ll never have children_. Brendon had spent about the next week moping about until Ryan managed to pry the reason out of him; it turned out Brendon’s admission of _I’ll never have a tattoo_ was weighing on his mind. Frank, like the awesome guy that he is, found the answer, and so Gerard carefully drew piano keys onto Brendon’s forearm. Brendon doesn’t sweat and doesn’t need to wash, so provided he goes over the design with an ink pen from time to time, he’s got his tattoo.

Bill sometimes wishes it was as easy to compromise on everything else.

They drive on in silence for a while, and then a sign at the roadside catches Brendon’s eye.

“Oh, hey,” he says, “let’s go see the world’s largest wooden crucifix.” He turns off immediately.

Bill thinks about pointing out that none of them are particularly religious – the nearest thing Gabe’s ever had to a religious experience was that time he had spinal surgery and apparently had a very disturbing vision about cobras – and then remembers that Brendon used to be a bit Mormon. Besides, they’ve got an entire trunk full of stolen Bibles, swiped from motel room drawers, so it’s not like Bill can really say anything. 

Brendon smiles at him. “Do you have any better plans for today?”

“Well,” Bill admits, “no.”

Brendon pushes his stupid giant plastic sunglasses up his nose. “There we are, then.”

+

“So, how long does the _Fuck, I’m Physically Incapable Of Taking Prozac_ tour last?” Travis asks, sounding amused.

Bill is sort of impressed that he’s managed to make this sound less lame than it actually is.

“I don’t even know,” he admits. “How’re things your end?”

He can _hear_ Travis roll his eyes. “Ever since Patrick turned eighteen Pete’s decided that now they’re both legal he’s totally justified in biting him. And then telling us _all about it_.”

Bill knows enough about vampires by now to know that biting people is something that’s very private and very intimate and not something they ever really discuss. He only knows Frank’s bitten Gerard a couple of times because he caught sight of the marks, and Gerard had flushed and started talking loudly and inanely about comic books until Bill took pity on him and went away.

“I’d point out to him that it’s about as welcome as hearing about different sexual positions he and Patrick tried but Pete told us all about those too.”

“Of course he did,” Bill laughs. He suspects Gabe would’ve done that too, but Vicky-T’s a classy lady and could almost certainly beat Gabe in a fight if it came down to it. “How’s Patrick holding up?”

“He’s got a mean right hook,” Travis tells him, sounding vaguely impressed. “He’s small, but he’s scrappy.”

They’re supposed to be Communing With Nature or whatever tonight, but neither Ryan or Z are large fans of Nature, and Spencer bitched that Nature was going to ruin his shoes, so they’ve wound up hanging out around their motel’s – somewhat unlikely – outdoor pool. Brendon is happily splashing about in it with Vicky-T and Gabe, while Ryan sits on the side and prophesizes various evil pool diseases.

“What are you guys _doing_?” Travis asks, and Bill wonders how much he can hear.

“Pool party,” he explains. “It’s pretty crappy pool, though, it kind of feels like one of the ones you’d pull bodies out of on _CSI_.”

Something occurs to him and he looks back to find that Brendon is, very carefully, keeping his head well above the water and sticking to the shallow end. Bill can’t blame him; Brendon’s never particularly detailed when he describes what drowning feels like, but the little Bill knows sounds _horrible_.

“Sounds like fun,” Travis says, a smile in his voice.

Bill shuts his eyes and tries to picture him, sitting somewhere with his phone. He hasn’t seen Travis for over a year now, and obviously hasn’t seen any photographs either; he wonders how Ryan coped with his pining over Jon from afar when he couldn’t even _see_ him, and then reminds himself that he isn’t pining because there’s nothing to pine over. He’d just like to be reminded what his friend actually looks like.

“Are you doing any dates in Chicago?” Travis asks. His voice is light, casual, and Bill spends a protracted moment trying to work out exactly what Travis is asking.

“I don’t know,” he says at last. “I don’t know where we’re going. I kind of hope one of the people driving does.”

Z is sitting on the edge of the pool, and kicks a wave of water into Gabe’s face. Bill sincerely hopes that Ryan’s pool diseases are actually imaginary, because Gabe is no fun ever when he’s sick, and will presumably be even worse in an enclosed space.

“Take care of yourself, man,” Travis says quietly.

“I’ll be ok,” Bill says, “I mean, the worst has already happened, hasn’t it?”

Travis laughs softly, but it doesn’t sound quite real. “Seriously, Bill,” he says, “take care of yourself.”

He hangs up before Bill can say anything more, and he looks up to see Brendon dragging Z fully clothed into the pool. They start splashing each other, yelling and swearing, and Bill half-expects someone to come out and shout at them, but no one does. Spencer rolls his eyes and Ryan appears to be actually flailing because of how he is violently allergic to actual fun; Gabe leans in and kisses Vicky-T like Brendon and Z aren’t trying to duck each other a few feet away. Bill slips his phone back into his jeans and walks over to join Ryan and Spencer. Both of them are wearing matching ‘Oh my _God_ , the world is full of idiots, how are these people my friends, how is this my life’ expressions, and it’s kind of stupidly adorable.

“Is this where we start mocking you for pining over a vampire?” Ryan asks.

“I’m not!” Bill protests. “And also: no.”

“You did it often enough to me,” Ryan points out.

“Actually, that was mostly me,” Spencer says, not sounding even remotely sheepish. He glances at Bill and then jerks his head and says: “come on.”

Bill and Ryan obediently follow Spencer away from the floodlit pool and the wet shrieking. They end up in the hotel’s badly-lit parking lot.

“Atmospheric,” Ryan remarks dryly.

“Shut up,” Spencer says, elbowing him and then abruptly sitting down on the tarmac.

“This isn’t some kind of suicide pact thing, is it?” Bill asks worriedly.

Spencer just levels his bitchface at them until Ryan and Bill sit down too. “We’re going to stargaze,” he informs them in his hardest, do-not-argue-with-me voice. “Ok?”

Ryan rolls his eyes but lies back, wriggling a little until he’s apparently comfortable. Bill shrugs but lies down too, staring up at the night sky, bright and clear and full of thousands of white pinpricks. It’s huge and overwhelming and would probably be breathtaking if Bill could still breathe, and Ryan’s fingers thread through the fingers of his right hand and Spencer’s fingers entangle with his left.

Bill has no idea how long the three of them lie there, attention fixed on the shining universe that’s so much bigger than any of them will ever be, but it’s long enough that Ryan’s practically asleep beside him when he rolls his head to look. He turns to Spencer, and whispers _thank you_.

Spencer just smiles, bathed in silver light.

+

Vicky-T abruptly swerves, causing the bus to make screeching noises Bill is pretty sure it shouldn’t be making, kicking up clouds of dust, and parking them off the road.

Bill was under the impression she was the one driving so that this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.

“Everyone out,” she announces with a flick of her hair.

Bill looks at Z, who just rolls her eyes and pushes her Audrey Hepburn sunglasses further up her nose. They’re really good sunglasses; Bill’s are still green plastic and he’s stupidly jealous.

They all obediently troop out into the sunshine. It’s absolutely silent; no vehicles in sight at all, nothing but the dust to see them. Vicky-T is the last to get out; Bill belatedly notices that she’s wearing one of his clean pairs of jeans. They’re too long for her, but they look good. It’s possible that her ass is more awesome than his; Bill decides not to ask Gabe, he’d only want to attempt to conduct some kind of pseudo-scientific experiment.

“Is this the part where you kill us all and hide our bodies?” Brendon asks, bouncing on his feet. He sounds much too excited about that.

Vicky-T takes her sunglasses off so they can all appreciate her eye-roll. It’s not as bitchy as Spencer’s, but it’s a good effort. “Flaw in that plan, Bren,” she points out softly. “Also, you’d all have to dig your own graves first, and the only things we’ve got on hand are stolen Bibles.”

Brendon’s face falls ridiculously.

“So, why the stop in the middle of nowhere?” Bill asks.

Vicky-T puts her sunglasses back on but even through the lenses, Bill can feel her heavy, unrelenting gaze. 

“I kind of wanted to see how you were getting on with that epiphany you were meant to get out here,” she says.

Bill’s stomach goes cold.

“I thought we were letting him figure that one out for himself,” Z says slowly.

“Yeah, but look how well _that’s_ going,” Ryan mumbles. Brendon elbows him, but he’s chewing his lower lip like a nervous tic, gaze on the dusty ground. 

“I have total faith in Billiam,” Gabe announces, and then slants him a look that Bill can’t read because Gabe is wearing fucking ugly shades.

They’ve wound up in a circle and Bill feels horribly exposed and guilty for making them all be here and still achingly, lingeringly lost.

“I don’t...” he sighs. “I don’t know.” He thinks about it for a moment longer, and though it hurts to say it, he adds: “let’s just turn the bus around and go home.”

The others exchange looks he can’t decipher, and then Brendon says, slow and hesitant: “the thing is, Bill, you’re not going home.”

“Way to make this sound like a shitty horror movie,” Ryan mutters.

“ _What_?” Bill asks.

Gabe slings an arm around his shoulders. “Ok, walk with me here, Bill.”

The others stay behind, kicking at the ground and aimlessly throwing rocks at nothing, while Gabe drags Bill down the road, hot asphalt under their feet.

“I don’t understand,” Bill says.

“The thing is,” Gabe begins, “there was this guy who was my best friend for sixteen years, and he was great and he was amazing and he died in a car accident. And that guy is gone.”

“I’m not _gone_ ,” Bill begins, but Gabe claps a hand over his mouth.

“Shut up, I’m not done.” He waits until Bill nods before continuing. “You’re not going home because there’s nothing left in that town for you. The only thing left there are your friends, and we’ve kind of proved that we’ll go anywhere for you. You need to get out, you need to live somewhere else and try new things out and be the Bill who woke up with the ability to walk through shit.”

Bill thinks about this for a while. “Didn’t I already work this out for myself?”

“No,” Gabe says. “Because you ran away _wrong_.”

He turns them around so they’re walking back towards the bus. The bright white sunlight makes Brendon glow just a little blue around the edges; Bill wonders if it’s the same for him.

“How can you screw up running away?” Bill can’t help asking.

“Because you should have picked a destination, found a couch to sleep on, found a shitty job and then worked something out,” Gabe tells him, like this should’ve been obvious. “The aimless city hopping is just desperate.”

“So that’s what you want me to do?” Bill frowns. “Pick a destination?”

“Get your shit together, ghost boy,” Gabe replies, prodding him in the side.

Bill smiles a little; he can’t help it. “How come all you guys knew this and I didn’t?”

“Because we know the new you, Bill,” Ryan informs him. “It’s just... you don’t yet.”

Bill ducks his head, grateful for the shades because he can feel his eyes getting embarrassingly wet behind them.

“So you’ve got until the nearest bus station to pick a destination,” Spencer says, soft but firm. Spencer’s great at getting the shit done that needs doing, and Bill resists the urge to cling to him and beg him to put his life together for him.

They all pile back onto the bus; Bill sits between Ryan and Brendon, neither of whom says anything. There’s nothing left to say, really. Bill sits silently and listens to Z switching channels on their shitty little car radio, and makes his choice.

+

“Oh,” Mike says in tones of incredulity, “you’re _shitting_ me.”

“Hey,” Bill shrugs. “Does this make us roadtrip soulmates or something?”

Mike smirks as Bill drops into the seat beside him. “So how’s the emotional breakdown going _now_?”

“As it turns out, all my friends knew why I was having the breakdown, even when I didn’t. So now I’m not having it anymore,” Bill explains.

“Right,” Mike says slowly. “That makes... no fucking sense at all.”

“I know,” Bill agrees. “But hey, this is unexpectedly awesome.”

Mike is clearly pretending that this is _not_ unexpectedly awesome, but there’s something glittering in his eyes anyway.

They sit side by side and Bill tries not to think too hard about goodbyes, because everyone, even _Spencer_ , got tearful. They all left before he got on the bus so his choice would _be_ his choice, and now all he can do is hope he made the right one. He’ll call home later, he thinks, but he’s pretty sure his parents will be relieved because then maybe they can move on too; no one wants to stay in the town where their son died. _No one_. 

It’s been a messy couple of years, Bill thinks, but they’ve been good, and he’s kind of looking forward to the future now, which is more than he has done in almost longer than he can remember.

Mike tells him that they have to meet up sometime when Bill’s settled, and Bill agrees; someone you repeatedly accidentally run into on buses is clearly someone you have to keep around. 

“Good luck,” Mike says, and it’s gruff but it’s genuine.

And then Bill gets off the bus, taking a deep breath he doesn’t need, because it’s a new city and a new start and he can do this. He _needs_ to do this.

Travis is leaning against the wall, a small smile on his mouth.

“How did you... how did you know I was coming to Chicago?” Bill asks blankly.

“I didn’t,” Travis shrugs. “But Gabe called me and said he hoped you wouldn’t be stupid enough to get on a bus anywhere else, so... we fucking hoped. That’s all it was.”

His friends know him too well, Bill thinks, and the thought makes him smile.

“So Pete and Greta have just bought an apartment near campus,” Travis begins, speaking a little too quickly, “and they’ve got a couch you can crash on, and Bob can get you a job in Starbucks, which’ll be shitty to begin with, apparently, but what the hell.”

“So when my friends told me to get a new start they actually meant go to _other_ friends and get help there,” Bill muses. “Bastards.”

“What can you do?” Travis says, but he looks happy enough.

It’s been a year, and Bill isn’t supposed to be afraid of things anymore. He steps in a little, intent, and Travis slides an arm around his waist, tugging him in close.

“Are you gonna tell me ‘no’ again?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Bill says.

“Thank fucking _God_ ,” Travis mumbles, flashing him a swift grin that reveals just how white his pointed teeth are, and then he leans in to kiss Bill. Bill, with nothing to his name but a pair of jeans, an ipod, two-and-a-half notebooks and a battered copy of _Ulysses_ , stands there and kisses him back.

{ **end** }


End file.
